


Strangers in a Bar

by peppermintquartz, welcometothemeatshack



Series: Finn's Playroom [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Finn is a tease, First Meetings, Joe is Badass, M/M, William Regal as Finn's Mentor & Sir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometothemeatshack/pseuds/welcometothemeatshack
Summary: Finn is having the time of his life. Twenty years old and hand-picked by Sir Regal himself to be his protégé, he is going to learn how to be a professional dom. Of course, in Sir’s opinion, all good doms spend some time as a sub, and Sir is taking him on the rounds tonight to see if he can behave himself.An account of Finn and Joe's first meeting (and first fuck).





	Strangers in a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Linked to Chapter 7 of Finn's Playroom.

Finn is having the time of his life. Twenty years old and hand-picked by Sir Regal himself to be his protégé, he is going to learn how to be a professional dom. Of course, in Sir’s opinion, all good doms spend some time as a sub, and Sir is taking him on the rounds tonight to see if he can behave himself.

They’ve just been to a leather club, a brief visit for Finn to be properly shown off in his full-body harness and fishnet stockings, but Sir is adamant on Finn not getting any sex until Sir says so. Finn can still feel his skin tingling from being touched and petted by all the strangers; he and Sir don’t have a sexual relationship, so he hopes Sir will find someone for him tonight. Instead of another gay club, Sir makes him put on proper clothes over his harness and fishnets, and fastens a narrow tie around his neck.

“How are we feeling, boy?” Sir asks, adjusting the tie and then pulling Finn close.

Finn bites his lower lip, lashes lowering to peer coyly up at him. “Feeling a little… restless, Sir.”

“I’ll have to find you someone, don’t I?” Sir says with a lazy smile. He runs a thumb over Finn’s plush lower lip. “What will satisfy my boy tonight, hmm?”

“Anyone Sir picks for me,” Finn answers, his eyes closing.

Sir’s lips brush over his forehead. “Let’s go.”

***

This next place is more quintessentially English. Sir finds a place in the back of the pub and orders drinks for them both. Low lighting, low murmur of conversation, cigarette and cigar smoke curling in the air. Finn is seated with his back to the door, It’s strangely arousing, knowing that under his conservative outfit is something Sir chose for him to be admired in. Sir has himself a brandy and a rum and coke for Finn. (Something light for someone relatively new to drinking, Sir has said before, but Finn’s developing a liking for whisky.) Sir nods at a few older gentlemen - possibly his clients, not that he will ever tell Finn - but sits with the young man as they drink.

“There’s a man by the bar, near the back door,” Sir suddenly says, and crooks a finger for Finn to lean closer so Sir can whisper in his ear. “I am going to sit with some friends. You are to seduce him into fucking you. And when he’s done with you, you will come back to me.”

Finn inhales sharply. His pulse picks up and he steals a look at the man Sir has picked out for him, and then he breaks into a wide smile. “Oh, _Sir…_ You do spoil me.”

Sir kisses Finn on the cheek discreetly and tilts his head. “Go get him, boy.”

As Sir goes to his friends, Finn has to think of how to go about his task. The man Sir has picked out for him isn’t conventionally attractive, but he wears confidence like his own skin. His dark curly hair has been slicked down probably earlier in the day, but at this hour the product has lost its hold. And he’s _big_ , the sort of big that means _strong_ and _physical labor_ and _I can throw you around as easily as I breathe_. Finn’s always liked a bit of manhandling, particularly when the other party knows what he’s doing. A slow heat unfurls low in his belly.

His scrutiny hasn’t gone unnoticed. The big man turns in his seat and raises an eyebrow in challenge, his laptop screen turned towards him. He looks fairly young (definitely not yet thirty, unless he has an amazing skincare regime) but there’s something about his eyes that suggests a maturity beyond chronological age.

 _Oh, it’s on._ Finn reaches into his pocket and retrieves the unscented lip balm he carries around (Sir’s orders - he’s supposed to be kissable at all times). With his middle finger, he slowly applies the balm over his upper lip, and then over his lower lip, accidentally-on-purpose pushing his finger into his mouth.

That seems to amuse the man, but he returns to his drink and laptop instead of continuing eye contact. Finn wonders if he came on too strong, then decides he has to be even more obvious if he’s going to meet Sir’s task. Finishing his drink, Finn slips out of the seat and walks over, stopping about two paces away from the big man. Instead of talking to him, however, Finn leans his elbows on the counter and asks for a bottle of beer. He knows how well the suit fits him.

“This ain’t that sort of establishment, kid,” the big man drawls. He sounds American, and just what is an American doing in this little pub? It’s nowhere near the tourist attractions, nor is it anywhere near the hotels.

Finn inwardly shivers at the low rumble; how will he _sound_ when he’s growling orders or just whispering nasty things? He straightens slowly, showing off his leanness. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?” The big man smirks - and _what_ a look on him, like he knows exactly what filthy things Finn is picturing, and it’s all up to him to decide if he’s going to fulfill Finn’s desires. He takes a long swallow of his pint, his thick throat on display, and then he sets his drink down. His thumb swipes over his lip. Meeting Finn’s gaze, the man licks the pad of his thumb and sucks it clean.

 _Fuck. I really, really want him now._ Finn leans against the bar counter, affecting nonchalance. He isn’t sure he succeeds, but at least he’s trying. The beer arrives and the barman winks at Finn. Any other night and Finn may be tempted, but he has his orders. He takes a long pull from the bottle, knowing how red his lips are and how the action highlights the line of his neck. Sir has made sure he knows his best angles. The big man watches him, openly appreciative of the view, but says nothing.

“You don’t seem like someone who’d come to someplace like this,” Finn tries later. The clink of the glass bottle on the counter distract him from his nerves. Fuck, he hasn’t been nervous about seducing anyone since he was seventeen and wanted the rugby captain to fuck him senseless. (Finn got to blow him, after one of their practices. He lost his virginity to the vice-captain instead.)

The big man raises both brows now, though he hasn’t looked up from his laptop. “Too classy for a guy like me?”

“No, too stuffy.” _That was a good save, well done Finn._

That draws a chuckle out of him. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Someone stood you up? How terrible of them.” Finn sidles a little closer. “Are you bored of waiting yet?”

The big man shrugs a shoulder. “Little bit.” He looks Finn over, head to toe and back up, and smiles like he’s smelled prey. “Not that bored right now.” Jerking his head at the front of the pub, he adds, “I thought you came in with company.”

“He’s not here with me right now, is he?” Finn bites his lower lip again and flicks a glance at Sir, who is decidedly not looking in their direction. Then he murmurs, “But if you’re worried, we can take this elsewhere.”

The big man studies Finn for a minute. Then he orders another pint. Finn’s offended, but the big man then says, “Go out the back door. I’ll join you when I’m done with this.”

“You get five minutes for that pint,” Finn says, because hell if he’s letting anyone chivvy him about that easily. After a quick stop to the pub’s restroom, he slips out the back door, heart thumping hard in his ribcage. This has to be one of Sir’s best picks for him. Discreetly checking his back pocket for condoms, he doesn’t notice two figures detach themselves from the shadows at the far end of the alleyway.

***

When he had arrived here tonight, the plan was to only be here for as long as it took to lay eyes on his target, finish his job, and get the fuck out of Dodge as calmly as possible. Now, though, the asshole is late - he’s normally here by now, halfway to _slammed_ \- and a quick perusal of the security feeds he’s tapped into at his target’s work tell him that the man is working late, putting Joe off-schedule (something that never sits well with the big man). He watches the young man - kid can’t be more than twenty - turn away, feels the breeze of the cool night brush over the nape of his neck; it’s tempting, honestly - too tempting.

Joe is content to continue to wait, if need be; he’s a patient man, always has been. He’s ready to sit at a table and wait for his target’s arrival - and, as a near-alcoholic, it’s a guarantee he’ll be here, same as always (not the best thing, to be predictable, not for a man with his profile; it certainly makes Joe’s jobs easier, though.)

He’s finished his pint by the time he’s finished his search of the CCTV footage, target just now finishing up the last of the paperwork he’s been reading and editing and signing for the better part of the day.

The pretty young tease is probably still waiting outside, and his target hasn’t got here. Why not?

***

“Pretty boy, you look like a million dollars.”

Finn frowns as he looks up from his brand new Nokia 6600. The speaker is a tall man, with a grimy yellow beanie and a black jacket with lots of patches. He sounds like he has a cold; his eyes flick from Finn’s face to his phone and back up again. Cockney accent, so a likely resident of the East End. His partner is nearly as tall, with more bulk, but not in the same way as the sexy stranger Finn’s hoping to be fucked by.

Finn sighs inwardly. “Lads, I really like my suit.”

“Yeah?” the fat one asks. Cockney as well. “Us, too. It _screams_ money.”

“Wonder what you’ll scream though,” says Tall Boy, now flashing a short knife in his hand. “Shall we find out?”

Fat Guy sneers, “Or you can save some dry-cleaning money and give us the phone.”

Finn merely sticks his phone back in his left pocket. Though he’s fairly sure it will survive a drop on the pavement, he doesn’t want to risk one of these morons stealing it and running. “That’s a gift, lads, and honestly, I’m not really here for all… this.” He gestures to the two of them. “It’d be better for you to just leave.”

Tall Boy snarls and rushes Finn with his knife. Finn neatly sidesteps, grabbing Tall Boy’s wrist and upper arm, and then spins him into the wall. Tall Boy crashes face first and slides to the ground, his beanie falling off. The knife falls out of his hands and Finn kicks it across the alley.

Fat Guy sputters, “You fucking _cunt!”_ and barrels forward. He’s easily twice Finn’s size and surprisingly agile once in motion. Finn twists out of his reach but slips when he steps on the beanie, landing with a grunt. In a flash, Fat Guy whirls around and grabs him by the collar, popping one of the shirt buttons. “You gonna learn something today.”

Finn jabs him in the gut and then knees him in the groin. Groaning, Fat Guy doubles over, and Finn jams the filthy beanie into his mouth before shoving him to the pavement. He tears off his jacket and tosses it aside, barely aware of a door opening and closing behind him, aiming another vicious boot to Fat Guy’s kidneys before he straddles the hapless would-be mugger’s back and twists his arm up.

“You lads really should have left when I told you to,” he drawls, and grips Fat Guy’s wrist with his left hand. “Now I gotta teach you not to mug innocent people.”

There is a thump and another groan behind him. Finn peers over his shoulder. It’s the big man from the bar, with a look that says _get on with it_ , while Tall Boy is prone at his feet, clutching his shoulder, and a backpack is leaning against the American’s legs.

Finn feels heat rush up the back of his neck. With a gleeful grin, he grabs one of Fat Boy’s fingers - the middle one, because Finn Balor is an asshole - and yanks it right back until he hears the crack. Fat Guy yells out, tears and snot streaming down his pale, sweaty face, but the beanie in his mouth muffles the sound.

With more important matters to deal with, namely getting the American to fuck him against a wall, Finn stands up and kicks the guy’s behind. “Get outta here.”

The two attempted muggers scramble to their feet, holding each other, and scurries out of the alley. Finn tsks at the state of his shirt and the knees of his pants. “Ugh. And I just got this suit last week.”

“Nothing a dry cleaner can’t manage,” the big man says. He’s holding Finn’s jacket open, as if waiting for the younger man to slip it on. Smoothing back his hair, Finn strolls up and turns around to slide his arms into the sleeves. The second the jacket is on, the big man yanks him around and shoves him against a shadowy wall. Finn bares his teeth in a feral grin, his pulse racing in anticipation. The big man leans in and sniffs under Finn’s ear; his body heat kicks the slim young man’s lust up another notch. “Dolce & Gabbana? Bold for a twink.”

“Sir likes it on me,” Finn murmurs, heady from the smooth rumble of the big man’s voice. He smirks, adding, “Do you?”

As a response, the big man licks up Finn’s bare neck. Finn doesn’t even try to stifle his moan. God, he’s getting hard; all the tension from the club earlier, the adrenaline from the fight, and now getting the American to finally fuck him... He grips the big man’s shoulders and tries to pull him in, and is rewarded with a huff of amusement before a thick, hard thigh wedges itself between his legs. Finn gasps and grins at him. “Is that all I’m getting?”

“You have a condom on you, kid?”

“Hey, I’m not that young,” Finn protests. He nibbles on the big man’s earlobe and adds, “Back right pocket. Lube’s in the left.”

He wiggles and rides the man’s thick thigh while large hands reach into the pockets to retrieve the supplies. The pressure in his hard cock eases slightly and he sucks on the bit of skin under the man’s earlobe. He hears the low chuckle and a soft chiding “ _Impatient kid_ ”, but the man is gripping his arse and pushing his thigh against Finn’s cock, so clearly he’s not the only impatient one. They pull apart to look briefly into each other’s eyes, and then Finn surges forward to kiss him. The American’s lips are soft, slightly chapped, and his tongue is thick and skilled, _holy shit, this man can kiss_ , and Finn draws back, panting hard, one leg curled around the big man.

The big man licks his lips. “Turn around,” he orders.

Finn does, forearms pressed to the cold brick wall. There’s a crude scrawl of a dick just by his right hand and he laughs quietly. The American shifts closer, his bulk a reassuring shelter behind Finn, and then he reaches around to undo his pants.

“No underwear?” the big man asks, and then, as he tugs the pants down, brushes over the straps of the body harness Finn’s wearing. His fingers then follow the lines of the harness, just on the edge of where skin meets leather. Finn shivers at the tease. The big man chuckles and nips at the back of Finn’s neck. “This is a damn pleasant surprise.”

“I think you’d like to see the whole getup,” Finn groans. His words come out breathy. “Fishnets and all, big guy, imagine ripping it off from me.”

The big man’s other hand goes behind Finn, his fingers slick from lube, and pushes one digit easily into the young man. Finn sighs with delight and pushes back.

“You’re all loose already,” the American marvels, now pumping two fingers in and out at a sturdy rhythm.

“Mm-hmm. Stopped in the restroom earlier.” Finn sucks in a hard breath because the other man pushes three thick fingers into him without warning, and stretches him. There is no denying that the American knows what to do with his fingers, and his other hand has crept up his shirt, skimming over the straps across his chest to play with his nipples and down again, over his hard-earned abs. He bites on the sleeve of his jacket and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to hold off his climax. Those damn fingers up his arse prod at his prostate and he can _feel_ his cock jump, he can feel how much pre-ejaculate is leaking from him. God, he wants the big man’s cock, for fuck’s sake, he _needs_ it, why the hell is he being teased? Once he’s sure he’s not going to whimper when he opens his mouth, he says irritably, “If I wanted fingers only, I’d have torn off the mugger’s and use it. Fuck me already, you goddamn _asshole_.”

The big man laughs and Finn swears under his breath in Gaeilge. Then finally, the big man removes his fingers. He hears a zipper being undone and the plastic wrapper of the condom, and then he feels pressure. The big man pushes in, slow and steady, the only sound his wet, heavy breathing into the back of Finn’s neck.

 _Fuck_ , _he’s thick everywhere,_ Finn thinks, eyes shut, his mouth open and gasping for air as he tries his best to relax. He wishes they weren’t in an alley; he wishes they were on a bed, damn it, he wants to look at how much cock he’s taking into himself, he’s practically split in two and it’s _so good_ , the burn and stretch, even though there is a bite of cold to the air. _God, I want to ride him six ways to Sunday, and six more times on Sunday._

They stay still for a moment, as if waiting for each other to give a signal, and then the big man growls, _he actually growls,_ and wraps an arm around Finn.

***

The kid is slick and hot around Joe’s cock, a welcome distraction from the night’s chill. It’s infuriating, how pretty he looked earlier with that almost deranged grin while beating up some random guy, his jacket flung aside with no care to where it landed (it landed on Joe as he came out the door). And then he has the nerve, the actual _nerve_ , to reveal to Joe he’s all dressed up for kink under his staid English suit. If Joe had the time, he’d have taken the kid to his hotel - his companion be damned - and fuck him in his body harness and his fucking _fishnets_ , the teasing twink with the brilliant blue eyes and sinfully red lips.

As he wraps an arm around the young man’s waist, he sucks on a patch of skin, making the kid moan some Irish gibberish. It’s a temporary mark, a small memory to leave him with, but Joe thinks it will be something both of them will look back on with fondness. He braces himself with his other hand on the wall and begins fucking the young man in earnest, hips driving into him as hard as he can. Joe doesn’t do casual sex while still on a job, but he thinks this young tease is worth the break from routine. The kid is moaning softly and pushing his hips back with Joe’s every thrust, whispering for _more_ and _harder_ , like he’s not scraping the sleeves of his jacket to rags against the brick wall every time Joe fucks into him. Scrappy little thing even grips Joe’s wrist where it’s tense against the wall, digging his fingers into Joe’s skin, before he reaches down to jerk his own cock.

It doesn’t take that long; Joe feels sensation rushing inwards, tight heat in his groin coiled like a spring about to snap, and with another few thrusts he shoves the young man into the wall as he comes with a choked-off grunt. As he keeps fucking through his climax, the kid whimpers and then comes with a gasp, clenching down on Joe in the sweetest way, like he doesn’t want to let Joe’s cock out of him.

 _Well. That was definitely worth the break,_ Joe thinks as he slips out of the young man and ties off the condom. To his surprise, the kid turns around and drops to his knees to clean Joe off with his tongue without even zipping himself up. And what a sight - red lips, dark in the dim light, hooded eyes alight with mischief and contentment, and hair that’s barely mussed. Joe scrapes his fingers through the kid’s hair and then over his jaw, his cheek, his ear. Pretty little thing leans into the caress and then winks at him before tucking him in and zipping him up. Whoever has him is a lucky bastard.

***

Once Finn is satisfied that the big man (and Finn now knows _how_ _big_ ) is all cleaned up and tucked away, he pulls himself together. He wipes off his ejaculate with his handkerchief, and then folds it up to be binned someplace. The button on the shirt is definitely lost, but the tie will hide it; his jacket is a complete loss, however, scraped rough by the brick wall. His knees are damp and cold, but there are no visible stains, so he thinks that’s a win.

Wincing slightly as he stands up, he smiles at the big man. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.” He goes and grabs the backpack. It looks heavy. Finn slinks up to him before he can leave.

“Any chance of a name? And a way to contact you?” Finn asks, trailing his fingers over the broad chest. He wants to know if it’ll be smooth or hairy, and he wants to know how many rounds he can go with this man who seems entirely comfortable with violence and intrigued by kink.

The American snorts. “The name’s Joe, but I’m not giving you my number, kid.”

“Come on,” Finn wheedles. He wants another taste of Joe, literally and figuratively, and he’s good at getting what he wants. Slipping both hands around the back of Joe’s neck, he says, “You can’t say you don’t want another round of this, but somewhere comfy.”

Joe sighs. “Kid-”

“I’m twenty, so I’m definitely not a kid, and I’ll bet you’re not old enough to be calling me a kid either.” Finn sees the momentary flicker of annoyance and knows he’s nailed it. “Aha! You’re what, twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Thirty?”

Joe narrows his eyes and glares. It’ll be intimidating, except one of his hands is now squeezing Finn’s arse. “Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five? You don’t fuck like a twenty-five-year-old, and this is me speaking from experience.” Finn grins and licks his lips. “Come on, Joe, give me a number to call you with. I want more joy rides with you. On you. Whichever works.”

“You do know I’m dangerous, right?” Joe lowers his voice and backs Finn into the wall again. There is no amusement in his face at all when he says quietly, “I could have killed you at least 15 times in the last five minutes.”

Finn studies Joe. He seems as if he’s perpetually ready for a fight, and he radiates _don’t fuck with me_ in neon letters. He doesn’t make a sound when he moves, and he moves lightning fast for a big guy. There is a cruelty in his gaze that reminds Finn of himself. But Joe also has an easy smile when he finds something interesting, and he has a cock that Finn wants to know much, much better.

Best guess? Joe is some sort of contract killer. The prospect doesn’t deter Finn at all. Even assassins can have a sex life.

He smiles at Joe and whispers, “You can try to kill me by making me come 15 times in a row, how about that?”

Somehow that brazen joke makes Joe laugh and shake his head. “I’ve never seen anyone like you,” he tells Finn, and gives him a phone number. “That’s the number I’m using while I’m here.”

“And how long will you be here for?”

“A couple more days, maybe less.”

Finn pouts, pushing his lower lip out comically far. “I’m going to have to ask Sir to give me tomorrow off then.”

“You’re sure I’ll want to meet you?”

“I never said I was going to meet _you_ ,” Finn says smartly. “But since you seem to want my company…”

Joe reels him in for a rough kiss, chuckling into his mouth as they separate. “I’m gonna enjoy teaching you to be polite, kid.”

“The name’s Finn. Finn Balor,” Finn tells him. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“If you wish.” Joe pauses, then adds, “Take your guy and get out of here. My… date should be inside by now. You get ten minutes to clear out.”

Finn smiles, and adjusts his tie. “Happy hunting.”

One extra day with Joe. Well, he’s going to make it count.

***

***

“I can’t believe that was fifteen years ago,” Joe mutters. “Fifteen years and still plagued by you.”

Finn laughs and climbs on top of him. “There’s that saying about karma, right?”

“Like you, karma is a bitch,” Joe drawls, and pulls the Irishman down for a kiss. Time for round three.


End file.
